The Touch of Time
by MyWhitelighter
Summary: "Some would be inspired, some would run away, and some would go mad." What really happened when the Doctor stared into the Untempered Schism?


**The Touch of Time**

* * *

"The Untempered Schism. It's a gap in the fabric of reality through which could be seen the whole of the vortex. You stand there, eight years old, staring at the raw power of time and space, just a child. Some would be inspired, some would run away, and some would go mad."

-The Doctor, "_The Sound of Drums_"

* * *

He longed to hold someone's hand.

Just once, and only for a little bit—just to feel the reassuring warmth of contact, the security and safety of having his small hand enveloped in a stronger, larger one. His mother was good at that. She was always reaching for extra contact; the absent brush of a hand over his hair, a gentle touch to his cheek, a grip on the shoulder. He missed it. He missed _her_.

It had only been an hour or so since he'd seen her, since the Lord Cardinals had led him away from his home and indeed the Citadel to take the traditional path to the Hills of Beginning, but his home felt a lifetime away. So long he'd walked, on small legs and with big round eyes not completely sure he understood what was happening, except for that the Pull inside him that told him it was _right_. He was meant to be here. Although that didn't take away the element of fear—it was natural to tremble at the unknown, he told himself, and tremble he did.

None of these Lords would hold his hand.

Intimidating and tall they strode around him in a circle, looking straight ahead and not sparing him even a glance as they held themselves up proudly. A sense of purpose radiated from all six of them, and the young Gallifreyan stood a little taller himself—he felt important, really. To be escorted in such a way. He knew it happened to everyone, but that didn't make it any less special.

His father had whispered something fervent and warm in his ear as the Lord Cardinals had waited, and although he couldn't remember the words he remembered the feeling stemming from them; like in the same way he'd always been told all things had a Time and a Place, he knew with the same certainty that this was his. Right now, in this moment, this was his Time. It made him feel flushed and excited and afraid all at once, a multitude of sensations squirming inside him that he couldn't release—normally he might run or shout or cry, but none were options for him now.

They could only walk, and he could only quake with apprehension.

Then suddenly, they were there.

The evening air of Second Winter had already made him feel chilled since departing for the Hills, but here all warmth seemed to rush from the clearing in a rapid _whoosh_, leaving freezing empty darkness in its wake. Though he expected to hear the rustling of the wind through the glimmering silver treetops everything felt terribly still, as if the area were holding its breath and waiting for something to happen.

For a moment he wondered if Time itself was standing still, but the flicker of the torches planted into the sand gave life away; he didn't dwell too long on that. His attention was drawn magnetically to the tall structure no more than fifteen paces in front of him almost immediately.

Even from this far away he could feel this was where the Pull was coming from, like a tug in his gut drawing him close to it. It was a large circle of patterned silver and bronze in faded colour, but bright and shining in the glow from the flames. The outer rim and the base were made of stone, not unlike the Temple in the heart of the Citadel, and spoke of an age far beyond anything he could possibly imagine. In the centre lay something else—something frightening and something exciting, and he froze where he stood as it spoke him.

Whispers floated on the breeze towards him and tried to lure him closer but he couldn't, frozen in fear to the spot as he was, though at the same time he was desperate to move. The Pull was so strong, and he was dying to get closer to the intense energy he could feel emanating from the structure.

"The Untempered Schism," a Lord Cardinal spoke, and the words sent a shiver down his spine. So enormous and befitting. The Lord Cardinal seemed to notice his indecision, and looked down at him with ancient eyes, nodding once towards the structure. "Go to it."

He didn't need any more encouragement.

His feet were already moving one in front of the other as every impression he made in the sand brought him closer to the Schism, his hearts hammering loudly in his chest. The Pull was so great now he felt that something might lurch from his body until finally he stood in front of the structure, eyes wide, and he realised what it was he was looking at.

The raw power of Eternity stared back at him.

A second passed. Two.

Then he wanted to scream.

It was like an explosion of unfathomable sensations burst into his mind, each seeking attention that he couldn't spare and thrashing around the forefront of his head. He could see everything, such _knowledge_, such capacity; all that is, all that was—all that ever would be, fighting in constant flux in the blue and violet scar of the vortex.

It frightened him. The sheer amount of possibilities and the dominance of the infinity was so petrifying—Life was such an overwhelming concept to him now, with the knowledge that the ancient foundations of the Universe all balanced precariously on change. Nothing was certain anymore, not even the rising of the twin suns over Gallifrey at dawn; everything was a spiral of choice and difference and the never-ending potential futures and pasts spread like blotted ink on a page. He could only see such a miniscule strand, but it felt more breathtaking and complex than anything he had ever seen before.

Peering only through a miniature gap in the fabric of reality, he felt so very small.

He was just one tiny boy staring into one tiny window, ineffectual and vulnerable as the whole of space and time continued to surge around him, ignoring him as if he were a single blade of the blood red grass on the plains of Wild Endeavour, never to be looked at twice. The insignificance of his own existence pressed down on him painfully and he wanted to cry out, felt tears he had no control over blur his vision as his breath was stolen from him; drawn from his lungs and out into the endless Schism.

He fought the urge to run away, forced himself to continue to stare as time and space unravelled before him—he couldn't explain it, but he knew to flee now would be to miss something important. All of eternity was laid out in front of him, and although he trembled and shook and gasped, if his eyes even flickered away for a moment he could miss something crucial—some lightning bolt change that could shape the course of everything.

He didn't want to miss that.

Slowly, he felt his breathing begin to slow, to come under greater control and something became clearer—something wonderful. Timelines that twisted and curved and weaved within each other became familiar, and he could see something. Something bright like a blinking beacon in an endless onslaught of possibility after possibility. He sought it out and clung to it with all his might, his mind beginning to fracture from the effort but—_Rassilon_—he could _see_ it.

Him. Out there, in the unending space.

Like a blade of grass on the plains of Wild Endeavour that had fought to live and grown into a sapling, and then a tree, and then a forest; he could change so much. He could be so much. He sensed so much mystery, so much knowledge, in places as bright as a sun and others dark as the night. His existence was eternal and limitless and glaring out at him from that terrifying spiral.

If he wanted to, he could change the Universe.

If he wanted to, he could destroy it.

His eyes had darkened and widened, the vortex reflected in their light as his soul soared from inside him—there were no restrictions, he could be anything he desired. With the power that rumbled and roared in front of him he, at eight-years-old, could bend the entirety of creation to his will.

Or, if he wanted to, he could just _fix_ it.

Because even as eternity burned, it was wonderful. It was malleable and yielding, yes, but it was also ancient and forever and younger than even he—it was bursting with Life. Teeming with hope and potential and it had captured his heart in a way that nothing ever had before, nor would anything ever again. There was so much to see out there, so much to do—so many incredible civilizations he could touch in the most subtle of ways. So much he could heal.

The Schism reached out to his mind and touched it, nudging and coaxing and he took a step closer, filled with awe.

It was captivating. It was still petrifying and painful and left him unable to control what he was thinking or feeling, but he couldn't look away. He almost wanted to look away, but it was impossible. He had looked into the heart of the Universe and it had looked back into him; now there was no way for him to let go.

Just as he began to lean even further forward, a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and broke him from the moment, leaving him cold and frightened in the night taking staggering breaths as if he had been deprived of oxygen for such a long time.

"Enough."

The hand on his back turned him away, but the Pull of the Schism still existed—it had lit something dormant inside him, something paralysingly sweet and sad and he fell to his knees quivering, silent tears running down his cheeks. His hands clutched jarringly at the sand on the ground, trying to slow his racing hearts and bring himself back under control, but his actions were not his own. It was almost like his soul was hanging on a small tether above him, watching the young boy sobbing on the ground and doing little to help him.

Soon he was lifted carefully by gentle hands, one of the Lady Cardinals, and his numb fingers grasped the fabric of her robe instinctively. She shushed him and whispered strengthening words in his ear that he would never remember. He felt the touch of her mind to his and heard the soothing hum of a familiar Gallifreyan melody drop from her lips. It calmed him, and slowly he could breathe again, could try and puzzle through what his young eyes had seen.

The Untempered Schism affected all who were forced to look. Some would be inspired, some would run away, and some would go mad. As morning broke and the twin suns rose over the horizon of the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, he felt as if he'd done all three.

The Lady Cardinal held him until he was himself again, until he was ready to return to the Capitol and into the waiting arms of his mother. The following dawn his time at the Time Lord Academy would begin, and he would choose a name.

A name that could be part of the Universe. A name that could help it.

The Lady Cardinal could sense his train of thought and she pushed encouragement towards him telepathically; he took great comfort in the contact as they finally walked away from the ancient structure and back in the direction of the Citadel, nowhere close to the boy he'd been before.

He didn't know this woman. In nine-hundred years he wouldn't even remember her.

Regardless, she held his hand all the way home.

* * *

**Inspired by the quote mentioned at the start from The Sound of Drums, and I took a bit of creative license with Gallifreyan custom in general. Hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you thought! :) **


End file.
